


death of the author

by worriedlywriting



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Necromancy, Temporary Character Death, i'll add characters as i add them in future chapters!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worriedlywriting/pseuds/worriedlywriting
Summary: Joe Hills was, first and foremost, a man of words.He was a poet, after all--rhyme and rhythm were his pastime. Of course, poets relied on people to listen to their ramblings; creation could be an act for the one creating alone, but only so much introspection could be tolerated before the introspector would wish for company outside their own mind.(The cruelest curses are the ones that seem to steal what fuels your very soul.)
Relationships: Joe Hills & ZombieCleo, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 49





	1. crime and possible punishment

**Author's Note:**

> first fanfic pog
> 
> anyway, two nights ago i ended up writing 1,000 words of this, and then wrote more the next night, so i've got 2-ish chapters and ideas for more. i'm unsure how long i generally want to make them--i'm generally not great at focusing for long periods of time, so i guess it depends on how long i can sit down and make myself write, and when each chapter seems finished? :P anyway, uhh hope ya like it !

Joe Hills was, first and foremost, a man of words.

He was a poet, after all--rhyme and rhythm were his pastime. Of course, poets relied on people to listen to their ramblings; creation could be an act for the one creating alone, but only so much introspection could be tolerated before the introspector would wish for company outside their own mind.

That was the reason Joe had traveled to the shopping district--well, one of the reasons; he was also hoping to find a new notebook in which to store some of his writing, and perhaps take a gander at whatever had popped up in the brief time they had inhabited this world.

He was wearing a full set of enchanted diamond armor, and carrying some diamond tools as well--not exactly a necessity, what with the fungal nature of the aptly nicknamed cow-mercial district barring the rising of undead that usually plagued the dark; nevertheless, the journey through the Nether wastes was certainly made easier with proper equipment, and Joe was happy with his decision to acquire good safety measures early on.

The roads he built were a good investment. He hadn’t made any diamonds today, sure, but he had already seen a few complaints about the simplistic design and overgrown weeds. He closed the chest containing the road permits with a sigh and a smile.

“Hey, Joe!”

“Hm?”

Joe turned around to see Grian walking towards him, a devious grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here! I was just finishing up the new--hang on, did you read the messages I sent?” Grian tilted his head questioningly.

Joe shook his head no. “I’m sorry Grian, I haven’t gotten around to checking my communicator in a while.” Honestly, Joe wouldn’t have been surprised if Grian had only just sent the messages thirty seconds ago.

“Oh! Well, I’ve started a new game! It’s a sequel to Tag. The rules are up on the board over there--don’t forget your entry fee if you want to play! Winner takes all!” Grian cackled as he ran off, more likely already planning more mischief. Joe watched him leave, shaking his head. Sometimes he wondered if Grian lived off of chaos.

Nevertheless, the idea of a prize pool was… tempting. He walked down the street to the board, carefully looking at the rules before reading the price of entry: one diamond block.

Joe was out of diamonds.

It was a good thing he wasn’t above stealing from friends!

He whistled a tune to himself as he walked over to the Head Games monument, already spinning a story in his head for when he would inevitably be confronted for his crime. Drop some rotten flesh off at Cub’s base, claim the sign he put by the diamonds was left for him… Joe’s forgery skills were a bit out of practice, but surely Cleo would believe her best friend and/or enemy, right? He quickly wrote the sign, making sure to check the time; it was late afternoon, nearing sunset. Cleo liked nighttime the best, so he would have to hurry.

He placed the sign, grabbed an oddly heavy diamond block off of the prize pile, and speed-walked towards the Tag 2: Electric Boogaloo (or was it Tag 15: The Dancing Queen?) board, glancing around before sitting down in the grass to rummage in his pockets for a marker.

The  ~~ heist ~~ entirely legal redistribution of wealth was complete.

It took him a bit longer than usual to find a suitable writing utensil; his fingers felt oddly numb. He frowned, shaking out his writing hand before carefully signing “@JoeHills” on the block and depositing it in the chest. It was… heavier than it had been before--in fact, the armor he was wearing seemed to weigh a lot more than it had that morning.

Probably just exhaustion, he thought. Maybe Bdubs was right about everyone needing to get more rest.

Nevertheless, it was getting dark. He knew his way home by boat, so he didn’t necessarily need to go through the nether. An evening boat ride sounded like a pleasant affair(if a bit physically taxing), and he honestly didn’t feel physically exhausted, just… weighed down. He sighed as he walked over to the beach nearest to his intended route.

The feeling of numbness in his hands was… still persistent, really, and honestly kind of worrying. He sat down on the beach, unequipping his armor--he supposed he should let someone know he was feeling under the weather, but he was kind of fleeing the island after having committed a crime, and would rather not be questioned. He sighed, kicking off his boots and reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

His hand phased through his head, indicating that asking for help was most likely the best course of action.

Joe attempted to grab his communicator out of his inventory, but his hands phased through the items in the pocket dimension--and his arms, did, too; however, he noticed that his hands were able to interact with each other, even if the feeling was more like a weird static than actual contact. He shook his head. This wasn’t the time for analysing the problem, this was the time to find someone, and fast - Cleo had obviously cursed those diamonds somehow, and Joe was not about to sacrifice his corporeality for the sake of pride without either attempting to reverse it or enacting a bit of petty revenge. He ran to the Head Games platform, scanning the shopping district for anyone who could help. Upon finding no one, Joe Hills, heart pounding in his chest, committed his final act before death.

He opened his inventory and kicked another diamond block off of Cleo’s pile and into his personal storage space.

Static instantly overwhelmed all his senses--a cacophony of numbness seeped into his skull as he felt himself collapse. He braced himself for impact--certainly he would fall off of the pile of probably-cursed gemstones--but it never came.

Joe Hills opened his eyes and looked down, gasping in shock as he saw through his body to the ground below.

He was floating.


	2. incorporeal consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe grapples with his newfound ghostly status and attempts to communicate with the outside world to varying degrees of success.

Joe stared at the wooden Head Games platform beneath him, head spinning with questions despite the numbness that plagued his now-ghostly form. Was this Cleo’s doing? Had she cursed the diamonds somehow? More importantly, how could he reverse it?

He grimaced, attempting to open his inventory. It seemed to work, and although the extra-dimensional box in front of him was just as incorporeal as he was, he seemed to be able to interact with whatever was inside, which was at least slightly helpful. He might not be able to… well, touch anything, and his communicator still stubbornly eluded his transparent grasp, but at least he still had a fair amount of food, as well as an extra notebook in case he was inspired by some odd occurrence that happened while he was away from the winery--he supposed this counted as such. Maybe he should write things down?

He carefully picked up the notebook, shuddering at the odd sensation of touching something without quite wholly feeling it. He grabbed a pencil as well, fumbling for a moment to get to an unmarked page, frowning as he thought of what to write.

__ Suddenly, he heard a shout in the distance, followed by rockets going off in rapid-fire succession. He jumped as Grian flew past him, alighting on top of the diamond pile. “Catch me if you can!”

“Grian, don’t, those are--” he tried to warn the man, but Grian didn’t seem to hear him, instead opting to jump off of the pile and fly right back where he came from, shooting directly through Joe’s ghostly form.

Joe shuddered, and mentally updated his list of worst experiences he ever had. At least it wasn’t painful, he supposed--it was mostly the confusion of vision versus sense that made him feel ill.

He didn’t have long to ruminate on the feeling.

“Joe Hills, what have you done now?”

He looked down. “Cleo?”

“Oh, I just know there’s going to be trouble when you’re around. Let’s see… dropped your notebook, did you?” He watched as she sighed, walking over to the dropped items. “You wouldn’t have done that unless there was trouble.”

“I didn’t even notice I did--Cleo, I’m sorry I stole your diamonds!” He floated down to her. “Please turn me back now, I promise I’ve learned my lesson!”

She walked past him, sighing as she threw the notebook into her inventory. “I’ll give that to you later, Joe. Anyway, heads, heads, how many heads--what is this?” She picked up the sign that Joe had forged. “Cub--no, no, no, no--wait a minute…” Cleo’s voice turned deadly. “Joe… oh, Joe Hills, you are a dead man.”

“Cleo, I said I’m--”

“You wrote a note, stole the diamonds, and you must’ve seen me coming because there’s no way you would have just left your notebook in the middle of the platform.” She cackled murderously. “Oh, Joe, and this early in the season, too--you knew I didn’t have any time to prepare traps, didn’t you? Well, breaking your legs is as good a trap as any, I’ll tell you that. I can’t believe you…”

Joe watched as Cleo shuffled through the deposited heads, a sinking feeling in his incorporeal stomach. “You can’t hear me, can you, Cleo?”

She continued to ramble on, muttering to herself absentmindedly. Joe sighed, looking up at the night sky.

Was he stuck like this? Permanently?

He floated away from the podium and into the shopping district. No one else seemed to be about--they all must have been at their various bases, sleeping or working on projects. He noted with mild discomfort that he didn’t feel tired, or hungry--just filled with that permeating numbness that refused to leave him. He wandered over to the nether portal, noting absently that he seemed to be accompanied by the sound of chains; looking down, he saw the offending noisemakers wrapped around his transparent form, trailing into nothingness at their ends. Would he, too, fade away? Surely the hermits would remember him and look for him, right?

He found himself at the nether portal. Oddly enough, standing inside its purple swirls didn’t cause him the usual nausea associated with a dimension shift. He didn’t go through the portal at all.

He returned to the beach, looking forlornly at the moon reflecting on the waves. Should he attempt to fly over the ocean, to see his home? There were more people in the shopping district, more chances to run into someone who could potentially help.

He decided to watch the waves for a while--the ocean was calming, after all. He sighed as he opened his inventory, rummaging around for something he could fiddle with. He grimaced as he brought out the diamond block, gingerly tossing it into the sand before searching for something else to hold.

Wait--the block was solid. He could interact with the environment through his belongings!

He grinned, grabbing his tools out of his inventory, testing his ability to interact with the ground. As he suspected, he still couldn’t solidly touch the surface, but what he could do was set down his items in a way that might broadcast something was wrong.

The most reasonable plan of action would be to arrange his armor and tools into a simple message--HELP. He debated adding an @ sign, but decided against it--after all, most of his tools had his name written on them anyway. After some debate on where to put each item in order to most clearly convey the letters involved, he got to work, noting that the moon was already setting in the sky.

As he worked, he absentmindedly wondered if time passed quicker for ghosts, or if it was just the nature of whatever curse he had been given. He assumed it was a curse, at least--as he filled in the H with golden carrots, he pondered his predicament.

What could have caused… whatever this was? Cleo obviously hadn’t done it, she was definitely one to brag to herself if her machinations were successful, and her plans tended to be more directly lethal than whatever this was. No, something else had to have caused his demise. Something more… slow-acting, and perhaps unrelated to others in their world--after all, despite any disputes they had had in the past, a curse like this was really taking things a bit too far.

He finished the line of the P, sighing as he dug out more dirt from his inventory with the shovel he had saved for last. He poured the final chunks of soil into position, then stared at his shovel in quiet contemplation.

“Who would have thought that a simple spade would seal the final strike of my only hope for salvation!” he mused. “Though the sun seems to rise over the sea, my solitude is still set in stone, my un-solid state seems to--” he was cut off by the beeping of his communicator alarm in his inventory. “Oh, it’s five fifty-five AM.”

He reached into his inventory with a sigh, setting aside the shovel and pressing the mute button on the alarm, closing his inventory with a sigh. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, shovel.” He grabbed the tool and closed the storage, blinking for a moment in the morning sun. “You know, I would swear there was something I was forgetting!”

“Well, your invisibility potion just wore off, is that it?”

Joe yelped, jumping at the sudden voice from behind him, whirling around a bit too fast on unsure feet. He teetered backwards, landing in the sand with an unceremonious ‘poof.’

“Woah! Didn’t mean to startle ya.” Etho stood at the edge of the beach, leaning up against the stalk of an overgrown mushroom. His masked face didn’t give away his emotions, but his voice held a slight chuckle. “Just letting you know, you’re not invisible anymore. That musta been a good potion, though--somehow managed to hide the items you were holding.” Etho walked over to him and extended a gloved hand.

“I’m… you can see me? And hear me?” Joe blinked, perplexed.

Etho raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s what I said… man, you look like you’ve been up all night, are you okay?” He crouched down next to Joe, peering at him investigatively.

Joe drew back, annoyed. “Yes, I’m fine.” Rolling his eyes, he attempted to stand up--and immediately felt like he was going to fall over, his head rattling with pins and needles. 

Etho laid a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. “You need helf cleaning up?”

Joe blinked. “Helf?”

“Yeah,” Etho snickered. “Helf. Like--like you wrote! Helf!” The ninja gestured to the assorted items Joe had arranged. Sure enough, it spelled HELF.

Joe put his head in his hands. It had been a long night. He did not want to deal with this.

“Seriously, Joe, you don’t look great. Do you want me to get help, or…” Etho trailed off, waiting for Joe to answer.

Joe sighed. “Do you have a lava bucket?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if this will post Now or Tomorrow, but no matter when it does, i hope you enjoy! :]
> 
> let me know if there are any chapter warnings i need to add, by the way! oh, also: i'm usually not able to have this much time to write, i am currently stuck at home due to multiple family members being sick (we should be fine). this fic isn't gonna be Too long, but if i'm still updating it in a week or two, it'll probably be slowed considerably :[
> 
> thanks for reading! -war  
> (btw my mcyt tumblr is @eyy-ladders, i have ethoslab brainrot)


	3. pilfered snacks and promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleo visits Joe to return his notebook. It does not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: "rest and revenge"

Thankfully, Etho did indeed have a lava bucket on his person, and had been extremely willing to assist Joe in destroying his diamond items. Joe made note of this for future reference; it was always good to know who would be amicable to the idea of arson.

At first he considered only torching the diamond block he stole, but then thought better of it--if Grian had touched the diamonds without consequence, and Cleo didn’t say anything about a curse, it was most likely an issue relating to him and him alone. He had considered melting his entire inventory, but after discovering that only the diamond materials made his hands begin to feel that same horrible numbness, he left the rest unscathed; after all, he would still need to make his way home, and having food for the journey would be a welcome comfort in his sleep-deprived state.

Etho had asked if he needed help getting home--Joe had declined, but he was fairly certain that the man had followed him through the nether nonetheless, if the way the ghasts seemed to die by well-aimed arrows as soon as they appeared was any indication. 

He was unsure if Etho had followed him through his portal, but when he returned to the winery, he set out some cookies in case, making sure to leave a note specifying that they were “for any and all guests, courtesy of @JoeHills” before walking to his room and passing out in his bed.

\---

Cleo was not having a good morning.

Well, she hadn't had a good night, either. She would say she was dead tired, but she didn't really need sleep in her undead state, and Joe would absolutely mercilessly tease her for making a pun--if he were around, that was. 

Oh, she was so, _so_ done with his shenanigans.

She sighed as she walked along the beach on the way to Joe's winery. Usually Joe was up by now, building some nonsense or other around the place--mostly his expansive berry fields, which Cleo thought were a bit excessive, though they certainly made the local fox population very happy.

Maneuvering her way through the fields was not an easy task, but she reminded herself that it was a necessary one. Not only did she have to return Joe's notebook--she had another message to send to her lovely and not-at-all-in-trouble friend.  
She arrived at the porch, walking around the berry-mashing vats to the door and knocking loudly.

The winery was silent.

"Joe?" she yelled. "I know you're in there, you..." she bit her tongue. "You... fine person." Oh, this was not helping her sound non-threatening, was it? She sighed, pulling Joe's notebook out of her inventory. "I found your notebook... I'm here to return it."  
It was a bit strange that Joe wasn't awake at this time. Usually he was awake by six AM. Was he sick? Did something happen? Usually when he was avoiding her wrath there would at least be a note on the door pleading for mercy. Today, however, no scrawled paper reading "Cleo please spare me" was present.

Something was wrong.

"That's it--I'm coming in!" she yelled, grabbing her axe and chopping the door off its hinges, kicking it inward. It landed on the half-finished floor with a loud bang, knocking over a shovel propped up nearby.  
A diamond boot stopped it before it hit the ground. Cleo turned her head towards its owner, a murderous look in her eye. She brought out her sword, pointing it dangerously at the intruder.

"What did you do to Joe."

\---

Etho was not easily threatened by violence. No, far from it; he could handle himself in a battle, he'd had his fair share of... unfavorable encounters over the years and was constantly on high alert for any situation that might end in combat.

However, Etho was well aware that Cleo did not threaten.

No, no. Cleo _promised._

He stood there, cookie in hand, shovel on... boot?... and very, very glad that he had pulled his mask up at the soonest hint someone was nearby. Of course, now he might have a different problem on his hands. And on his boot--he glanced from Cleo to the shovel and back again before carefully nudging it up towards the wall it had been leaning against before. Cleo raised an eyebrow.

"Tripping hazard," he stated. "Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

The sword edged closer. This was not ideal.

"I swear I didn't do anything!" He put his hands up in a placating gesture. "I was at the shopping district early this morning and Joe asked for help with burning some diamonds. He seemed pretty tired so I followed him home through the nether--he left me cookies." He gestured to the pile. "They're not bad, actually, not enough chocolate chips for my taste, though." Cleo narrowed her eyes at him. He nervously blinked back.  
"Fine." Cleo sighed, putting away her sword. "I guess I'll believe you. But mark my words, if Joe is hurt in any way, shape or form..."

Etho sighed in relief. "Yep! I get ya." Turning away from Cleo, he pulled down his mask, shoving the rest of the cookie in his mouth before putting it back in place. "Mrmff mrmfff."

"Excuse me, what?"

He swallowed. "Joe's upstairs." He walked over to the plate of cookies, dumping the entire thing into his inventory before running out the now-empty doorframe. "Laters!"

  
\---

Cleo trudged up the second flight of stairs, grumbling to herself. She honestly didn't have time for any of this--it was late by her standards, and she would much rather be working on some project or other at her base, or resting for a while, or working on a sculpture. But here she was, opening the door to the hallway and walking down to Joe's room. She knocked on his door, quietly this time.

"Joe?"

Opening the door, she peered inside. 

The curtains were open, and the late morning sun was creeping in, but Joe was fast asleep--he'd gone to bed in his day clothes, too.

Had he been at the shopping district the whole night?  
  
Shaking her head in disbelief, she carefully walked over to the window, drawing the curtains as soundlessly as she could. She grabbed the notebook out of her inventory, frowning for a moment before scrawling a note on the first unused page.   
  
She looked at her sleeping friend and sighed.

Just this once, revenge could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IM ALIVE  
> got extra sick for a few days... now i am better! :] but that means im back to work :[
> 
> anyway this chapter goes out to my good friend who messaged me "man. im gonna reread death of the author" and then ""joe hills was, first and foremosr, a man of words" sentences that make you spontaneously feel emotioks" which... killed me! thanks i am never recovering from the fact that i made someone feel a thing! you made me feel things because i made you feel thigns! wow! friendship!
> 
> also no alistair i'm not fixing your typos... i know you would do the same for me :] love you buddy
> 
> ANYWAY! i have some more planned for this, but updates are gonna be on a "whenever i'm able to focus enough to write a fair amount of words" basis. again, please ask if you think anything should be tagged! thanks for reading! :]


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